We were still moving from the wreck and the Seamew’s boat, the men backing water. There was a splash and a louder yell from the Seamew’s men. I glanced over my shoulder. I could see the turbanned head of the wild man and his thin, bare arms beating the water. He was swimming desperately after our boat.
“That monkey’ll be drowned,” Thank cried.
“We kin get away from him easy,” said another of the rowers.
“He’ll be drowned,” I said to Mr. Barney. “We’ll have to take him in.”
“I reckon that’s so, Webb,” said the second mate. “The Seamew is welcome to the old tub—and the dead man.”
The brown man came to the side of our boat, panting and moaning. He was near spent.
“I believe he belongs to this girl and he thinks we’re running off with her,” said Mr. Barney.
“He’s crazy as he can be,” said Thank.
“Help him in. See that he doesn’t have that knife. If he doesn’t behave, we can lash his wrists together,” said Mr. Barney.
The foreign looking man was hauled in. He lay panting on the bottom, between Mr. Barney and I. We were being hailed from the other boat.